Fleeing Fate (4 page)

Having worked with Hervé for so long, Jakuta knew the fiery
shifters didn’t suffer fools gladly. “What happened?”

Gràinne’s eyes widened, animating the story with expressions
as well as fluttering hands. “Using spies and infiltrators, the dragons
precipitated a great battle and, as the fighting began, they swooped in to
incinerate the assembled forces with magical fire. When the Great Purge was
over the survivors fled in fear and horror, leaving the remains of their fallen
behind, and the dragons, feeling their job was done, also departed.”

She paused, and when she continued her voice was pitched low
and sonorous, as though imparting a great secret. “But there were others who
felt the destruction of the fey factions was insufficient to keep our world
safe. Who was to say that other clans wouldn’t step forward to seize the
opportunity, perpetuating the problem? The remaining elves were still in the
majority, could easily begin warring amongst themselves again.

“Two necromancers, Manzazuu and Skuld, were among those who
felt the purge was not enough. Together they traveled to the site of the
massacre and, combining their powers, began raising those who had perished. But
they did not raise them as elves, or as minions to do their bidding. Instead
they created new races—werewolf, vampire, troll, banshee and a host of others,
each with its own special power—so the elves would have other clans to answer
to for their actions.”

With a sigh she sat back and lifted her hands as if to say,
that’s
it
. The enjoyment she’d shown while telling the tale faded from her face,
and her lips twisted slightly. Jakuta realized he’d been so enthralled by her
story he was leaning over the desk, and settled back, crossing his arms.

“So, you don’t believe the story?”

Gràinne shook her head, making her hair swing around her
shoulders, catching and reflecting the light so it appeared the sun danced
among the strands. “Oh I believe it, to a point.”

Jakuta raised his eyebrows. “Which point?”

She shrugged, lids drooping so he could no longer read the
expression in her eyes. “I think the raising has become…” She seemed to search
for the right word. “Convenient. A way to explain the emergence of all the
younger races.”

“Like yours?”

“Like mine,” she agreed. “Although I don’t have any evidence
to suggest we didn’t come into being then.” Her face tightened. “We may have.”

He had to interject. “Don’t you know how old you are, when
you came into being?”

Gràinne looked away, a strange expression tightening the
skin around her mouth and eyes. “Not really. I’ve lived quietly, in seclusion
when on this side of the Veil. And time is different on the other side.” With a
little shrug, she looked back at him. “I could have come into being then. I
don’t know. If I did, at least it would be a place to start.”

“It is.” Thank the Orixás, listening to and watching her
tell the story had taken the edge off his desire, and he could function fairly
normally again. He wanted to question her further, find out how it was she
didn’t know when her life began, but he’d take care of the tattoo issue first.
“The ink used on the races known to have emerged then is similar. There are
only small variations, tailored to their particular attributes. With weres, we
add silver nitrate. For the vampires, pulverized hawthorn.” He paused, enjoying
the dawning realization widening her eyes. “I never tattooed a troll, so I
can’t remember what we use for them, but I can look it up if need be.”

Slapping her hands on the arm of her chair, she glared at
him so fiercely it made him want to laugh.

“You knew the story all along!”

“Of course.” He grinned, saw her struggle not to smile back.
“You could say it’s part of our lore as tattoo artists too. It’s the first
thing we’re taught. If you’re part of that group, we should be able to figure
it out.”

She looked torn between amusement and annoyance. Annoyance
won, if the killing look she sent him was any indication. “Dammit, Jakuta,
why’d you let me waste time telling you something you already knew?” When he
tried to reply, she cut him off by standing and beginning to unbutton her
blouse. “If it’s that easy, let’s get on with it.”

He tried to keep his eyes on her face, knowing his brain
would immediately go south again if he didn’t. “We still don’t know which one
will work.” He couldn’t believe how rough his voice sounded and knew she
understood exactly what was happening when the now familiar blush burned its
way across her face. “Give me a minute.”

“No.” With a shrug, blue silk fluttered to the ground and
Jakuta swallowed the pained growl rising into his throat as his lower
peripheral vision filled with her breasts.

He couldn’t avoid looking.

They were perfect, round and soft, the puckered tips light
pink, like the insides of delicate seashells.

She turned, walked toward the tattoo chair set up in the
corner of Hervé’s office, ass swinging, supple muscles in her back shifting
beneath pale, enticing skin, making his hands itch to touch. “We’ll try every
one if we have to. Even if it takes all night.”

Heart thumping, Gràinne levered her body onto the high
tattoo chair and turned her head to look at Jakuta. He was still sitting behind
the desk, but his eyes were closed, and his lips moved slightly, as though he
were praying.

She didn’t know whether to scream or cry. Conflicting
emotions were turning her inside out. Being with Jakuta seemed to push the
importance of why she’d come to the Midnight Café into the background. He’d
reduced her to quivering compliance with a kiss. Just one, albeit long and
infinitely thrilling. And now she yearned for much, much more, even as her
brain screamed for her to remember what she was trying to achieve. The
dichotomy was tearing her apart.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” The rage inside gave her
voice a new stridency she hadn’t known she was capable of. “Let’s get going.”

But she wasn’t prepared for him to rocket out of the chair
and stride with surprising swiftness around the desk, bending to retrieve her
blouse as he came toward her. And when he passed on his way to the supply table
against the wall, tossing the garment at her, all she could do was reflexively
catch it.

“Put on your shirt.”

“But—”

“You want the tattoo or not?”

“Yes, but—”

He spun to face her, shriveling the words on her tongue with
his glare. “Then put on your fucking shirt before I come over there and give
you more than you bargained for.”

His words cracked like thunder, matching the lightning
flashing in his eyes, and Gràinne knew she should be frightened by his powerful
display of emotion. Should, at the very least, want to clutch the shirt over
her chest in defense. But she wasn’t scared, and didn’t have even the slightest
urge to cover up. Instead his rage touched something deep inside, making her
quiver again with suppressed desire. Seeing his reaction, knowing she affected
him as strongly as he did her awakened the temptress she didn’t even know lived
inside.

No time for this.

But she couldn’t seem to stop the little smile that tugged
at her lips, or the hot, languorous sensation flowing through her veins, making
each move deliberate and teasing.

“Okay.”

Taking her time, she sat up to pull one sleeve on, watching
him as she did. Arching her back, she reached behind for the other sleeve,
seeing his gaze fall to her out-thrust breasts, feeling the heat of his stare
like a sweep of fingers over her flesh.

She was tempting fate and suddenly didn’t care. Desire for
him was superseding every other thought and need, and that yearning grew even
more intense as his fingers curled into fists and a rumble issued from his
slightly parted lips. That mouth had reduced her to mindless arousal with just
a kiss. What would it do wrapped around her nipples, skimming her belly,
covering her pussy?

Settling back, she pulled the edges of the blouse across her
chest, barely covering her aching nipples, leaving the placket unbuttoned so
the inner curves of her breasts were left revealed.

“Better?”

Jakuta growled, took a step toward her, and Gràinne’s heart
went into overdrive.

“Make up your damn mind, Gràinne.” His words rolled over
her, anger and need mixed together into a potent, heady brew. “All these mixed
signals are testing my patience, and I’m not sure how much more I can take.”

He was right, of course. She was the one who remonstrated
him about wasting time, kept him at arm’s length, and then turned around and
started channeling her inner siren. Remorse made her want to hang her head, but
she wouldn’t allow herself the luxury of hiding.

“I apologize.” Holding his gaze was excruciating, but
somehow she found the strength to do it. Confusion was twisting her in knots.
The rush of sensations and emotions devastating. To her shock, she realized
tears were stinging her eyes and blinked, trying to hold them back. “I—I don’t
know what’s come over me. I’m not normally like this.” She swiped at the
moisture trailing down her cheeks. “This whole thing is making me crazy.”

“What is?” He didn’t come closer, but somehow she felt him
relax. When had they become so attuned she could sense every shift in his mood,
no matter how small? “Tell me what’s really going on, Gràinne.”

The way he said her name, so tenderly despite the otherwise
interrogatory tone, made more tears well. She couldn’t tell him everything, but
he deserved some explanation.

“Banshees were created to be a warning system for the
humans, especially when death is being caused by interference from beyond the
Veil. To do that, we have to be emotionless, impassive—watchers rather than
participants in the lives of those we guard.” She swallowed, remembering the
coldness of her life before, looking back and wondering whether it had been a
gift or curse. “I found something that changed me, changed everything.”
Clutching her shirt closed, she shook her head, trying to find the words to
express what she was going through. “Suddenly all I
can
do is feel, and
I don’t know how to control it.”

For a long moment he simply stared at her, eyes narrowed,
fingers flexing and relaxing, his beautiful face so stern it almost broke her
heart.

“You’ve never felt anything until tonight?”

That wasn’t strictly true, but she simply said, “Nothing
like this.” How could she get him to understand? She held out one hand, relief
surging through her as he took it, moved closer. “Can you imagine never feeling
anything? Not anger or fear or pleasure? Watching the world around you as
though through a pane of glass, never caring or curious, yearning or enraged?”

He shook his head, and there was a rueful twist to his lips.
“I am a creature of emotion, and those emotions have caused me, and those
closest to me, nothing but grief. There have been times when I wished for
exactly what you’re trying to escape—longed not to feel everything so keenly,
so I could avoid reacting.”

Just the thought of it made her shiver with loathing, and she
gave in to the need to touch his face, trace the tribal markings on his cheek.
His skin was as soft as she had imagined, the tiny scars a strangely beautiful
difference in texture.

“Never, ever wish for that again. Without emotion you lose
everything—the ability to belong, to understand others, even to mark the
passage of time. Memory grows from caring about what you saw or experienced. To
live without emotion is merely to exist.” She traced his lips, absorbing the
tingling warmth through her fingertips, reveling in his sharply indrawn breath.
“When I touch you, feel desire rise and heat my body, see the same need
reflected in your eyes, I know I never want to go back to the cold, joyless
person I was.”

Lower slipped her fingers, over his chin, down to lightly
cup the muscular column of his throat, her thumb stroking the underside of his
jaw. Each new place she touched just made her want to explore him further,
discover what aroused him, what would make him shake with need, the way she
shook. Suddenly being with him, experiencing what it meant to be taken by and
give to this man was of tantamount importance. That need forced every other
consideration out of her mind.

“Gràinne, sweetness…” She loved the way his words seemed
like gravel-filled velvet. “Be careful.”

Ignoring his warning, she flicked open the buttons of his
shirt, hearing his breathing grow rougher as each fastening popped free.
Finally she could rest both hands on his chest, and they both moaned slightly
at the first sweep of her palms over his fiery skin. Finding his nipples tight
and puckered, she instinctively pinched them lightly and his eyes grew fierce.
But still he didn’t try to touch her in return.

“Do you know what I pledged to myself when I came here
tonight?”

Without waiting for his response, she pulled his shirt free
from his pants. He grabbed her shoulders and she stilled, looked up to meet his
gaze.

“No. Tell me.”

Leaning forward, she circled one nipple with the tip of her
tongue, sighing with pleasure as it grew even tighter, and Jakuta’s skin
rippled beneath her teasing fingers. When she spoke her mouth was a
hairsbreadth away from his body, and she knew he would feel the words as a cool
breeze on his damp flesh.

“I promised myself to find freedom tonight, even if it were
the very last thing I did.” Closing her eyes, she dragged her lips back and
forth over his chest before resting them over his rapidly beating heart. “I
never knew it would be so incredible.”

His fingers found her chin, lifted it so she could meet his
sparking, searching gaze. “Be sure of what you’re doing, Gràinne. I don’t want
to take advantage of your confusion.”

She laughed softly, curling her hands around so she could
squeeze the tight muscles of his ass. “I’m not confused about what I want. Will
you make me beg? I don’t mind, if it’ll help.” Releasing him, she sat back,
aware of the way her blouse sagged open, the cool air of the room swirling
around her breasts, the inferno of his gaze on her face. Reaching down, she
unsnapped her jeans, slowly lowered the zipper as she whispered, “Kiss me,
Jakuta. Suck my nipples. Touch me everywhere, lick me with that hot, sweet
tongue until I scream with bliss. Let me touch and kiss and suck you in
return—”

He didn’t give her a chance to finish what she was saying.
Knocking her legs apart, he stepped between them, his mouth coming down on hers
with desperate force. His grip was rough as he pulled her to the edge of the
chair and flattened her body against his.

Passion exploded through her, and Gràinne clutched him just
as roughly, rocking her hips, grinding her pussy against his rock-hard cock,
damning the clothing keeping her from being skin-to-skin with him. Plunging her
hands beneath his shirt, she curled her nails into the straining muscles of his
back, holding him as close as possible while he ravaged her mouth. Her head
spun, her body grew blazing hot and liquid, as though lava flowed where blood
should be.

With unsteady but determined hands he pushed her blouse off
her shoulders, and she let go her grip on him only long enough to quickly slide
her arms free. He broke their kiss and she murmured her displeasure, trying to
find his mouth again. It trailed to her neck, making her head tip back, racking
her with shivers, her mind going blank to everything but the deliciousness of
his hands, mouth, body.

When his lips closed over one nipple, Gràinne arched with
shock and dug her fingers into his hair, the cry of pleasure rising in her
throat choked to silence by the enormity of the sensations. Heat and dampness,
seductive swirls of his tongue, the sharp nip of teeth, strong fingers
squeezing and molding her flesh all bombarded her, sending her into a frenzy of
need.

Vaguely she was aware of his hand on first one foot and then
the other, the removal of her ankle boots. Letting her nipple slide from his
mouth, Jakuta grabbed her by the waist and heaved.

Gràinne gasped in surprise as her ass left the seat. His
mouth found her ear and he said, “Take off your pants.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, and Gràinne shuddered at the
commanding tone.

“Oh Goddess.” It came out as an almost silent moan, but she
didn’t hesitate to follow his order. Twisting in his arms first one way then
the other, she pushed the jeans down as far as she could, her panties tangling
with them and going too.

“Good girl.” His croon sent another jolt of near-orgasmic
pressure through her. She hung on to his shoulders, rubbing her breasts against
the unyielding wall of his chest, wanting to wrap her legs around him,
frustrated and almost mindless with lust.

“For the Goddess’ sake.” She dug her nails into his flesh in
emphasis. “I need you.”

He laughed, dropped her back into the chair. Before she
could recover, he’d grabbed the legs of her jeans and was hauling them, and her
panties, off. Something about his roughness made her arousal peak, made her
want to reciprocate, somehow knowing he’d love it. When he got her feet free
and straightened, she grabbed the waist of his pants and yanked him forward.
Caught by surprise, he was within reach of her mouth before he knew quite what was
happening.

Sweeping his shirt aside, she bit his nipple.

“Fuck.”
He grabbed the back of her head but didn’t
push her away. “You make me crazy.”

The taste of his skin burst on her tongue again, the heat of
his body mingled with hers, creating an inferno. She couldn’t get enough of his
muscles contracting and rippling beneath her fingers, the way his nipple peaked
between her lips. His arousing, earthy scent intensified, filling her head and
acting like a shot of adrenaline. She thought she heard drums beating a wild
rhythm but realized it was her heart going into overdrive. Sliding her tongue
across the contours of his chest, she found the other nipple, treated it to the
same caresses. Jakuta growled, arched back, his fingers threaded through her
hair and pressed with exciting force against her scalp.

Dropping her hands to his crotch, she cupped his erection
through the denim, a shock of delight going straight to her pussy at the
hardness of his cock—evident even through his clothes—and the way it pulsed against
her palm.

He pulled away, dragging her head back by her hair with one
hand, grabbing her wrist with the other.

“Oh no, sweetness.” Bending, he pressed a hard, swift kiss
to her lips, releasing her hair to grab her other wrist as she tried to get his
fly open one-handed. “You first.”

Using his foot, he touched a pedal and the chair reclined
slightly.

Gràinne was drowning, unable to catch a full breath or think
a complete thought. Her body shook, clamoring for him, and she didn’t try to
resist as he nudged her farther back in the chair. Using his grip on her wrists
to ease her down until she was recumbent before him, he loomed over her, filled
her vision with his dark, beautiful face.